


The Struggle

by dysphorie



Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [9]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: 4/8 - Freeform, Alcohol, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Murder, Predator/Prey, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snuff, Spitefic, Strangulation, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, but still gotta tag it appropriately, idk how else to phrase that if you do let me know so i can edit these mf tags, idk what you want from me i wrote this to annoy ppl, just south of proper, plying with drink to get into a suggestible state, spite, well seventeen year old sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: "The fear before the fact as they know something's wrongThe vain attempt to scream their muffled swan songThe struggle, the shock in their eyesMy grip around their throat as all their hope dies"Or, Jim and Corey, predator and prey
Relationships: Jim Root/Corey Taylor
Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488107
Comments: 28
Kudos: 23





	The Struggle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badwoIf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwoIf/gifts), [feistycadavers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/gifts).



> this was written purely out of spite and is shite in quality. sorry not sorry. no gods no masters. thank you to scroobius pip, whose song ["the struggle"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3HCXh9WQSo&ab_channel=ScroobiusPip) popped into my head halfway through writing this and supplied the title and summary. go listen he's fucking amazing

Jim pants, leaning his weight down through his arms to his hands where they're wrapped tight around the kid’s throat ( _ Jim thinks he said his name’s Corey. He’s not sure, he was barely listening, plus the shitty college teens house party music was practically deafening) _ . The pulse underneath his fingers is still rabbit-fast, not yet at the point of passing out, face getting redder as the seconds pass. Alleyway dirt and grit sticks in Jim’s knees through the rips in his jeans. He’d just shoved them down under his ass, knowing there was potential that he might need to make a quick get away. He grinds down, through his pelvis and through his knees, relishing the way the pain grounds him and Corey’s hole clenches around him. As much as he wants to get lost in the joy the tight heat around his dick brings him, he’s got to stay at least somewhat aware. Alert. Ready.

Corey wheezes a little, fingers trying to tighten around Jim’s wrists. There's still some fight left in him. Jim appreciates that. Even if the scratches and gouges littering his hands and arms are stinging like a bitch, he has to give the kid kudos for trying to fight back when surely he must've known right from the start that it was pointless. He likes it when they fight. Jim shifts his hips a little, adjusting the direction of his thrust, drawing a gurgle from Corey as the new angle hits his prostate. His eyes roll back in his head as frothy spit bubbles from his parted lips. His dick is rock hard against Jim’s stomach, and Jim idly wonders if Corey might come from this. It’s happened before. Not often, but it’s happened. Now isn’t the time to be doing the math though. A feeble hand tries to slap at Jim’s bicep. Colour Jim impressed.

Truly, the kid did try to struggle. A lot harder than Jim expected, given his level of inebriation. He’d slapped and pushed, and punched and bit, catching Jim on the cheek with a heavily decorated ring. Jim can already feel the bruise blooming, pushing at his lower eyelid, but not so bad that it's closed. Without missing a beat Jim spat, blood splattering Corey's pale skin and giving Jim an opening to take him down. And down he went, writhing and screaming and trying to kick as Jim straddled his hips. In the end it took a few good slaps and Jim catching his face with a hand over his mouth, pushing Corey’s head hard into the asphalt, to quiet him. Not that it mattered; no one came running after them. No one was looking for them. Corey’s fellow drunk college kids were no doubt too full of cheap beer and jungle juice to notice Jim buttering him up all evening, and so were even less likely to be able to hear the commotion outside. 

Really, it had been almost too easy. Corey needed no encouragement to drink, downing everything Jim waved under his nose, not noticing that Jim was nursing a single can of Diet Coke the entire time. Of course he didn’t notice; college kids don’t see further than their own amphetamine-sugared noses. Jim hadn’t even needed to slip anything into the drinks. Corey was already practically dry-humping Jim’s thigh by the third red solo cup of spiked punch. Then Jim was leaning into Corey, lips to his ear, suggesting they slip outside while Jim “ _ had a smoke” _ (he even made the stupid air quotes with his fingers incase Corey missed the hint), because no doubt all the bedrooms were already taken and anyway, Jim had  _ always _ wanted to blow someone in an alley. Corey’s eyes had been like saucers, little pink tongue slipping out to lick his lips as he nodded. He’s so young and delectable, so naive and trusting, all perfect pale skin and soft lips and tiny moans as Jim threads his fingers into his hair when he kisses him. Everything Jim wants,  _ needs _ . It hurts Jim to hurt Corey. It hurts every time. But it wont stop him, can’t stop him. 

So he did what he does. Caught his prey in his web then wrapped himself around him to feed on, to suck dry. With the hand over his mouth he’d lifted Corey’s head and then smacked it back into the ground, knocking him out briefly. Jim swears he saw the stars form in the boys eyes. From there it took him seconds to yank the kids jeans down, get a condom on, and force himself into that tight little hole. Corey had whined in pain as he came back around. Until Jim wrapped his hands around his throat, that is.

That tangible heartbeat is starting to slow. Jim grins.  _ Nearly there _ , he tells himself. Corey's practically puce now, neck and cheeks littered with bluebell bruises of burst blood vessels, and Jim can see the light start to fade behind his eyes. His windpipe gives a little under the pressure of Jim’s thumbs, the cartilage bending. Thank fuck, because Jim’s hands are starting to cramp thanks to the kid’s neck being freakishly thick for his size. Then the crack, the snap, Corey’s eyes flying wide. Bloody spittle leaks from his mouth, drooling out the side. Jim comes. Hard. His hands twitch and tighten once more and still as he gasps, tears instantly prickling his eyes as his dick pulses and fills the condom. The grip around Jim’s wrists loosens and then falls away completely. Through the wet streaks Corey’s gaze bores into Jim in those final moments, whites shot bright red, as his heartbeat thuds to a stop. 

\-----

Jim’s long gone, driving down the highway with another cold Diet Coke pressed to his bruised cheek, before the beefy jock stumbles out of the house, informing the cheerleader he’s leaning on that he’s gotta take a leak before they go. He wobbles his way down the alley, stopping by the dumpster so he’s got something to lean on. Breathing out a sigh of relief as his bladder starts to release, he works his phone out of his hoodie pocket, figuring he’ll take the time to message a buddy, let him know all about the hot chick he’s going to bang (despite being so drunk that he’ll be lucky if he can get half a chub).

The light from his phone screen is bright, bouncing off the metal dumpster and illuminating a little more of the area. Something catches his eye, right where the stream of his pee ends. What  _ is _ that? He turns his phone around, too drunk to think of turning his cellphone’s flashlight on. It doesn’t matter though; the dim light still manages to catch Corey’s glassy gaze, eyes open and staring up into nothing except the stream of urine hitting his face.

**Author's Note:**

> dysphorie.tumblr.com


End file.
